Blue Dragon 8
Blue Dragon 8 is an encounter in Civil War. Enemies * Royal Guardsman (120 Gold, 120 XP, 120 Energy, 4/4/4 HP) * Royal War Wizard (120 Gold, 120 XP, 120 Energy, 4/4/4 HP) * General Berund (250 Gold, 250 XP, 250 Energy, 1/1/1 HP) Transcript Introduction The Kasan! A descendant of the Dragon-Rider, the most famous hero of a legendary age when wyrms waged war on West Kruna. A %man% who'd battled Crenus' legions in Nordent and stormed a royal armory alongside the great Roderick. Nevis couldn't believe it. Seeing %name% Kasan standing next to Theadric had been surreal, an image cobbled together from incoherent fragments of dream. The bully strutted like a peacock -- while everyone else fawned over him for bringing these new allies into their midst. Even Nevis couldn't begrudge his bully that moment of glory. Carolyn and the others had crowded around the illustrious visitor. Nevis and his friends couldn't get close. But merely gazing upon the Kasan and %his% remarkable retinue had been enough. He'd spent long moments staring at each of them, pondering the grand happenstance that had brought all those heroes together. There was a towering oroc, the tallest woman he'd ever seen from any race, who stood head and shoulders above the host. Shining crystal studded her orange body, as though she were a massive jewel come to life. A veteran said the sword she held was forged by Rogar and once wielded by Roland -- a conjunction of magnificent tales and legends, harnessed to battle the tyrant king. Beside her was a fat man with a jolly face and a friendly grin which reminded Nevis of his uncle. He looked more like a butcher than a warrior. "Fancy a pie, mate?" That one had wandered through the camp later, while his companions and the rebels' leaders talked strategy, and handed the boy a meat-filled pastry. Nevis broke it in quarters and shared it with his friends. All of them marveled at glorious flavors, and decided that the man must be the hero's cook. A woman had stood next to the Kasan, her pretty aristocratic face flanked by a multicolored forest of fletches protruding from her quiver. Nevis recognized a fellow marksman's eyes -- the keen gaze that picked out targets and took aim, calculating their destruction in a half-thought, half-felt instant. A warrior from Theadric's band told him she held the bow of Teucer Tullian, another relic of a wondrous era. History seemed to coalesce around %name% Kasan. "Good shot." After the midday meal she'd watched the archers, slingers, and javelineers train. She nodded approval when his bullet struck the dead center of his target. Ryli teased him afterwards for his swelled head -- but he brushed her soft jibes away. Nevis longed to speak to the hero %himself%, to be able to return home one day and tell his father or Hetti that he'd clasped the hand of the one %man% in all creation who could claim both the Dragon-Rider's blood and Roderick's friendship. The warrior who might one day topple Crenus from the throne with %his% own hands. Perhaps he'd have his chance after the battle. For now they were marching, towards the field where their destinies would intertwine with the Kasan's. Nevis clutched his sling tight and swore he would make the hero proud. *** There's a flash on the horizon, a blazing glint like a miniature sun. Light reflecting off a blade. Aya's signal. She and her assassins have done the work of blood and shadow, silenced the sentries. A force like yours won't escape notice forever. But the longer you do, the less time Berund will have to prepare. "Must be a sodding awful life, being a sentry. You stand around in the bloody cold all day, freezing your bollocks off, until some bloke decides to come along and cut your throat. Mind you, least you get to stand on the spot. Maybe eat a pie or two. Better than all this marching palaver." Hugh grins, breaks a pie in two, and offers you half. You shake your head and he passes it behind him instead -- to one of your new allies. "Pie is good, and Chumgrak is hungry! Maybe eat Berund when we get there... Ha ha ha ha ha!" Tessa glances at you. All you can do is shrug, and wonder what kind of wine goes with generals. Conclusion Brawl boss unlocked! Battle. The word once held such dread. It conjured up images of blood-drenched hells, malevolent monsters that devoured men and women by the hundred and spat their bones across muddy fields. Now it was just... a thing. A place of horrors, yes. But so much more as well. Nevis knew he'd never be a great hero like the Kasan, who wore battle as a garment and made it %his% own. Nor could he become an axe-wielding maniac like Chumgrak, laughing as he cleaved people to bits, bathing in gore. But he wasn't the child he'd once been either. Whatever happened, he would face it. "Get ready," Tessa said. She stood beside him, at the forefront of the archers and slingers. Her bow rose and an arrow pulled back against the string until its blue fletches stroked her cheek. Nevis pressed a bullet into his sling and spun the weapon. It whirled beside him in a blur, an arcane wheel that would keep the missile safe till it was time for it to fire. His orc friend called it centrifugal force. But to him it would always be a kind of magic. The enemy's horsemen rode out from behind their lines, metal warriors encased in fine plate armor -- painted gold and purple. Aureate dragons glared from their big shields and the guards on their long lances. The world trembled around them, quaking before the elite cavalry as though the entire universe feared being smashed aside by their unstoppable charge, pierced by their weapons, trampled under iron-shod hooves. An arrow flew, a lone missile that arced overhead and landed in the grass far short of its target. It lay embedded there like a grave marker. "No!" Tessa said. "Don't fire till I say! Remember -- the horses. The horses!" The riders shifted, the entire formation moving with one mind and a single accord, massing into a wedge, its point narrow, penetrating. A great spear of steel and horseflesh that could tear an infantry formation open. It drove across the field, making for the massed warriors' flank. "Now!" Tessa Tullian spoke the word and shot her arrow at the same time. "Now!" Nevis' sling opened, launching the bullet amid the hailstorm of stones, lead, and shafts. A few of the missiles flew wide. Others clattered off mighty panoplies, rebounding from helms and cuirasses, vambraces and cuisses. But others struck flesh. Not the riders', for that was shielded. The horses' -- catching them where the barding offered no protection. He laughed. Tessa spared him a quick glance, maybe taking it for nervousness or even bloodlust. But it was neither. Nevis laughed because Theadric, bastard bully that he was, had been right. Carolyn needed more slingers, more archers. And this was why. Steeds fell and rolled, smashing their riders into the earth. Others stumbled over them and added themselves to the heap. Those who saved themselves from the tangle fell prey to the next volley. "Hold!" Tessa said. "Hold!" The firing stopped, for it had done its part. A unit of warriors parted from the rebels' flank and broke into a run. Chumgrak was in their midst, his powerful green body unmistakable, humungous axe drawn back in anticipation. An armored cavalrymen rose to one knee, pulling himself out from under his twitching horse. He looked up in time to see the orc's blade hacking down at him. This was battle. And it was terrible. But it wouldn't break him, Nevis vowed. When he spoke to his father, Hetti, Ryli, Yaealina, Chumgrak, %name% Kasan, he'd hold his head up high and tell them that he'd done his part. *** The fireball rushed at them, bathing them in its heat, burning the air with its whooshing mass. Hugh threw up a barrier. It detonated against the invisible wall, splattering and splashing. "Nice try, mate," he murmured. Elyssa ran forward, not even waiting for the flames to dissipate. Some of them licked at her skin. None of them found purchase. Because her flesh housed its own fires, and they were jealous little things. A torrent erupted from the elven pyromancer's hands. It flew in front of her as she charged, lengthening and widening, dousing the robed casters in pure immolation. Some screamed and burned. Others raised their own wards in time. But by then the advancing rebels were on them and their protectors, plunging them all into a packed, whirling melee. Hugh's bulk crashed into one mage, throwing her back and knocking her to the ground. She disappeared under stomping boots. Another grabbed his right arm, trying to wrestle his cleaver away. Hugh headbutted him. Sooner or later, every battle just turned into a big pub brawl. And he was blooming well from Titar. *** "Roar, gold dragon!" The soldiers pressed forward, ensconced behind a wall of large, interlocked shields, a mobile barrier that pushed the waves of rebels back and threatened to drive them into disarray. They rebuffed charges like an ancient cliff face withstanding the ocean tide. While their shared bulwark held, they were invincible. So Rakshara decided to break it. She dropped her sword and shield, bent down, and seized a less orthodox weapon. "Bloody hell!" "Gods!" "She... Oh, crap!" The oroc heaved the horse's corpse above her head, and for a moment both soldier and rebel stopped to gawp. Then she hurled it. Crenus' warriors had trained for many eventualities, learned how to hold their ground and keep their shield wall intact against numerous different threats and attacks. But they'd never had to deal with airborne equines before. The barrier buckled, and Rakshara was there the very next moment -- sword and shield back in her hands, cutting, thrusting, and bashing their way into the opening she'd created. "Roar, blue dragon!" she shouted. The rebels added their own war cries as they joined her. *** There's chaos amongst the tents. Berund's reserve troops battle your warriors throughout their camp, caught off-guard by the coordinated assault. Tendrils of mist still linger in the air -- drifting past you all like fallen clouds. You arrived after the explosions, but you recognize their aftermath all the same. The concealing smoke used by Aya's people and the royal assassins. Both groups of masked warriors are clashing now, stealth giving way to swordplay. Elsewhere a bear with glowing green eyes rampages through a group of startled horses, putting them all to flight and cutting off the commanders' best escape route. Your companions are a weird and eclectic group. But after fighting through forests and plains, caverns and tundra, vampiric castles and hell itself, they know more about the art of war than they'd learn at any academy in the kingdom. "Berund!" Theadric says. You follow his pointing blade, to the purple-armored man who stands in the middle of pandemonium, bareheaded, his mane of dark hair made ashen by smoke and dust. He's still shouting orders and directing his soldiers into battle. Both of you run towards him. Two guardsmen in heavy armor move in front of the general, grasping their halberds. "Go," your ally says. "I'll take them." He accelerates, outdistancing you in an instant. He's a superb athlete. Fast and fearless. Skilled too. He springs into a flying kick, the kind of move you'd expect from a Golden Garden or Black Orchard monk. He sails above one halberd. His boot crashes into the soldier's helm and knocks him sprawling. Theadric lands too close for the other soldier to bring his weapon's blade to bear. He thrusts with the shaft instead, trying to create space. Theadric pushes back on it and stays him. Then he drives his sword point up into the man's armpit. Bermund gasps at the display of martial prowess. In truth, so do you. You've found a fine ally here. But you recover in time to do your part. "General Bermund?" you say. "My name is %name% Kasan." "If you want my surrender..." he says. "I don't." You lunge. He parries, but it's not good enough. Generals are seldom the best swordsmen in an army. Unlike you... Your blade forces its way past, pushing his sword aside, and impales him. *** "It was a splendid battle, in which I believe we all acquitted ourselves admirably," Chumgrak said. "Ladies and gentleman, to us." Nevis, Ryli, and the orc raised their tankards and tapped them together. Yaealina pressed her wineskin against them. "To lost and found things," the cleric said. "To friends," Nevis said. "And sharp steel," Yaealina said. They drank. Perhaps the ale was weaker, or else Nevis was ready for it. There was no spitting and spluttering this time. "How many have you killed now, Yae?" Ryli asked. "Three," the half-elf replied, and took another glug. The area around the storehouses contained a celebration that put their previous revelry to shame. It had begun the moment they seized the place, and only grown with the passing hours -- as people from across the region poured in to congratulate the victors and create memories they'd tell by the fireplace for decades to come. Those of means had had the good sense to bring food and strong drink with them. "In this spirit of celebration, friendship, camaraderie, and joie de vivre, allow me to say..." The orc broke off and coughed when Carolyn appeared nearby. "Chumgrak kill lots of soldiers! Chumgrak is great! All hail Chumgrak!" Three people followed the commander, a woman in a simple black dress -- a rough woolen affair, like a mourner might wear -- and two young boys. The children looked at the orc and giggled. "You're an orc!" one of them said. "Yes, Chumgrak is mighty orc!" He reached out for the boy. Their mother -- Nevis could see the likeness now -- flinched for an instant, but smiled when Chumgrak merely tussled the boy's hair. "These are Gerna, Riton, and Derrick," Carolyn said. "Our guests of honor. I'm going to introduce them to the Kasan." Nevis felt a pang of jealously, but the looks of joy on their children's faces dispelled it. Other people were falling into line behind Carolyn and the visitors, following to observe the meeting. So Nevis and the others joined them. *** "To %name% Kasan!" "%name% Kasan!" The toasts have been going for some time now, and your head's swimming with cheer. Or ale. The two have always seemed rather similar. A big fire blazes in the space between two of the largest structures, watched over by Elyssa -- who's promised not to let it spread and burn the buildings down. Its light bathes you and your friends, both new and old, lending a warm glow to merry faces. Tessa and Aya are chatting over their tankards, while Paxon hops around trying to butt into the conversation. Eventually he just transforms into a bear to grab their attention. He sighs when the two women decide to use his furry back as a table to rest the drinks on. Hugh and Rakshara laugh at the spectacle, before slipping away like a pair of love-struck youths. Richard, Zeilend's horse, glances at the ursine creature, turns back to his mistress, and neighs at the absurdity of it all. She nods and pats his nose. "Theadric deserves the honors," you say, raising your tankard to him. "He fought like a demon." He returns the gesture. "I just wanted to live up to your example, Kasan." Another toast is made and drunk. Carolyn appears before you when you lower your drink, accompanied by a woman and a pair of children. This doesn't surprise you -- many civilians of all ages are milling about the place now, joining in the festivities. But there's something about the boys' smiling faces that gives you pause. And a crowd's gathering behind them. "%name% Kasan," Carolyn says, "meet Gerna, Roderick's widow, and his sons -- Riton and Derrick." The fire's warmth drains from your face, leaving icy coldness in its wake. *** The Kasan hesitated for a moment. Just an instant, but Nevis thought he understood. It must be hard to meet a battle-brother's widow, to look her in the eyes knowing that you'd lived while her husband died. %name% recovered in an instant though. %He% spoke out, voice raised to reach the crowd, and told the woman and boys how brave their husband and father had been. The Kasan had a silver tongue, and tears flowed from many eyes. Water glistened in the hero's own as well. When the speech was done, %he% raised %his% tankard and called a toast. "To Roderick!" %he% said. "Roderick! Roderick! Roderick!" Nevis, Chumgrak, Yaealina, and Ryli chanted his name along with everyone else, till it rolled out across the landscape and boomed in the dark heavens. Men and women surged forward, each taking Gerna's hand like suitors at a ball, pouring out jumbled words of praise and sympathy. Nevis and his friends went forward too, drawn towards the brave widow who'd sacrificed as much for West Kruna and their freedom as any warrior, and he remained part of that bittersweet scrum for many minutes. Then something caught his eye. The Kasan was gone. The hero had flitted away from the crowd, slipped by unnoticed. Perhaps %he'd% gone to relieve himself, or else wished to cede the moment to Gerna. Yes... That's what a true hero would do, Nevis decided. The boy struggled free from the crowd, escaped beyond the press of warriors and well-wishers, and headed off into the darkness. This was his chance. His chance to meet %name% Kasan. *** The night is cold. It slaps your face, icy fingers clawing your cheek. You take another glug from the wineskin you snatched up. It was big and heavy before. When did it get so light? Doesn't matter... You drink again. It's sweet, stale, and sickly. But the world still blurs, because the universe doesn't care. "%name%!" You turn around and almost stumble. Far off -- it could be a hundred yards or a million miles -- light cascades from the buildings. A great swath of dark grass stretches in-between, empty save for a single little face staring up at you. It's one of the boys. Riton or Derrick. "Yeah?" There's a gulp at the back of your throat, dredging up a chunk of vomit. You swallow it back down. "My father... Was he brave? Brave like they say?" "Yeah. He... He was brave." "Braver than you?" Something cold and strong grasps your heart in its talons. The boy's eyes are solemn, the only clear things left in a shifting, distorted universe. You nod. "Thank you," he says. The kid turns and runs back towards the light, leaving you alone in the dark. Your eyes sting. They burn like fires. You glug the rest of the wine, but it doesn't help. Nothing helps. You toss the skin aside. "Kasan..." Your whirl around. A young man stands before you, his face a blur. He's grinning, isn't he? Grinning and laughing. Mocking you. Because he saw. He saw you tell the truth, about Roderick. "I'm Nevis, and-" You clench your fist and smash him in the side of his head. He goes down, collapses like a broken puppet. But he's still laughing. Laughing at you, at %name% Kasan. So you fall onto him and smash him again, and again. The laughter's stopped. He's groaning now, groaning and crying. Good. You walk away, towards the fires, where everything burns. Category:Civil War